The notebook

Dan Verner
Published: August 25, 2008

In spite of the title, this is not some sappy, uh, romantic tale about a man and a woman who had a grand love for each other and then one of them moves away or disappears for decades and then they
find each other again but it’s too late because one of them dies but it’s still oh so romantic.

It’s not about that at all (I think someone else wrote that one).

Instead it’s about a little notebook I carry with me at all times. It’s 3 ½ by 5 ½ inches with a black cover and about 40 pages. I use it to write down things I don’t want to forget. Sometimes I call it my
memory.

The brand name is Moleskine and I have no idea how to pronounce that or if the cover is made from the skins of actual moles. I hope not, but anyhow they look like thick paper to me. The notebook
advertises itself as the book used by artists and writers the likes of Picasso and Hemingway. I don’t care who used it: it’s a useful size and an item I’ve grown to depend on.

A notebook lasts me about six months, but they’re inexpensive and I just replace one when it gets full. Then I put the little notebooks in the box with the income tax information. They provide a window
into what I was doing that year if I can figure out my notes to myself.

I heard early on that writers should keep journals, and I have tried numerous times but usually quit after a few weeks at most. 

One problem is that writing is not that much fun for me. I enjoy the finished product and hope other people do, too, but on the whole I’d rather be reading or taking a nap. Then there was the problem of
anything to write about. I lead a fairly ordinary life, and no one is going to care much about what I do on a day to day basis, including me. A typical day’s journal entry for me might read, got up, cleaned
up some, wrote some, ate lunch, read some, took a nap, visited my dad, came home, played with the cats, fixed dinner, ate, watched television, read, went to sleep. Now, Samuel Pepys that ain’t,
although many of the entries in his diary are about like that with the exception of the television.  He also ate more and more often, which is probably why he developed gout later on. I don’t want to write
about that either.

A while back I read about writers having “day books” in which they could write ideas down, paste in articles of interest or actual small objects such as ticket stubs or flowers. I tried this for a while but
my “day books” looked like attempts at scrapbooking by an eight-year-old (or maybe not as good as an eight-year-old could come up with). I did find that if I was having trouble sleeping, I could thumb
through one of my day books or my journals and soon be out.

Writers also have “commonplace books” but I don’t even know what that is, so I haven’t tried one.

My latest Moleskine book is about at the end of the line. The cover is hanging by a thread and tattered almost to pieces. As I look back through it, I see titles of books I want to read, telephone numbers,
recipes, lunch orders, to do lists, song lyrics that were DOA, quotations, appointments, email addresses, and ideas for this column (which started out as one word: notebook).

I didn’t know what to call my notebook since it wasn’t exactly a journal or a day book or a commonplace book. One time I pulled it out to write something I didn’t want to forget and said, “‘Tis meet I
should write it in my book of memory.” (Hamlet) That got me a weird look, as it should have. Finally I decided to call it “the place where I write stuff.”  That’ll do. And it’s a record of the day-to-day
happenings of my life, as sure as any journal I can think of. I recommend that anyone get one and carry it around. There’s no telling what you might write.

Dan Verner is a long-time Manassas resident. He periodically contributes his thoughts to these pages.